


Be still my foolish heart (don’t ruin this on me)

by theLoyalRoyalGuard



Series: Dual Process Theory [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Droid discrimination, Droid rights issues, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Morality, POV Cassian Andor, POV K-2SO, Physical Disability, Post-Battle of Scarif, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 16:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18502771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLoyalRoyalGuard/pseuds/theLoyalRoyalGuard
Summary: Kay makes a friend.Cassian has a moral dilemma.Relationships between organics and synthetics are complicated when one has rights the other doesn't. They've fought their whole lives to change the galaxy, but the galaxy won't change for them.





	Be still my foolish heart (don’t ruin this on me)

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back! This fic is a standalone about Kay and Cassian working on their relationship and attempting to address the power imbalance society creates for them, but it will make more sense if you've read the first in the series. 
> 
> Notes at the end for a quick recap of Movement Recalibration.

Getting Cassian to take his pension turns into an unexpected ordeal. Even though he left most of his gambling money on Eslar III (some for the local school he’d already been donating to, the rest to Nimali, the Togruta neighbor who used to send him home-cooked meals), he argues repeatedly that he doesn’t need it.

“I’ll get a job as soon as I’m cleared.” He says it every time like he expects that to be the end of the conversation, but Kay hasn’t kept him alive this long by letting Cassian be needlessly stubborn, so this time he doesn’t let it go.

“They are not giving it to you for free,” he points out, even though logic doesn’t always work against his frustrating human. It’s only the first line of attack. The last will be contacting Draven, which Kay is not above doing. “You already earned it.”

Cassian’s lip curls. “I don’t want money for those things.”

Kay rolls his optics, leaning forward to take up more of Cassian’s personal space so he can’t pretend to ignore him. “Being noble is not going to undo the things you regret, Cassian. Besides, you can have your pension and a job. It’s not like they’re giving me one.”

“Maybe they should.” Cassian glowers, lips pinched with sudden anger, but that sends an idea running through Kay’s circuits.

“I know! You can pretend it’s _my_ pension, plus back pay for all my work with you.” 

In the end, Cassian takes the pension, directs the deposits to an account with Kay’s name on it, and gives him the account ID. “It’s yours. I don’t want it. Just don’t get involved in anything illegal.”

So, Kay starts researching investing. It’s like gambling, but bigger. Strategic analysis, he decides, is about to become lucrative for them.

~~~

It’s the conversation about the pension, rather than the money itself, that Cassian finds himself thinking about when he’s avoiding sleep. Legally, K-2SO was property of the Alliance, but Rogue One had successfully made the argument in court – Cassian remotely, due to being bedridden when the case came up, which may actually have helped. He’ll deal with sympathy if it gives him victory – that it was Kay’s old chassis that belonged to the Alliance, the chassis that was destroyed saving Cassian’s life, not the core that makes Kay, well, Kay.

The court then attempted to grant ownership of the droid to Cassian, a privilege he’d refused only with the assurance that doing so wouldn’t allow the court to award that ownership to anyone else.

Because he won’t lose Kay, won’t risk him being taken away. Though he’s relieved to avoid the thorny possibility of legally owning the person he cares for most. 

“Don’t worry,” Jyn had said. “We’ll get him out of here if they try to give him away.”

Fortunately, it hadn’t been necessary. With the help of a few good words from General Draven and Senator Organa, Kay now owns himself.

Unfortunately, that leaves him in a legal gray area of independence without resources and very few rights. There just… aren’t a lot of independent droids in the Galaxy, and even fewer of them are combat class, which had been the court’s main argument against the decision. So Kay is free, technically, but not socially. Even the money he’s having fun playing with is only his because Cassian granted it to him. The New Republic isn’t going to give back pay or a pension even to a self-owning droid. 

He’s in the thorns, anyway.

When Cassian ran things as Kay’s superior officer, that was fine, but they’re civilians now. Moreover, they live together, in some semblance of domesticity. It’s not fine anymore. It’s not _right_. The doubt starts to eat at Cassian’s delicate peace.

Is it wrong when he kisses Kay’s fingers or lets them explore the architecture of his bones and the softness of his skin? Is he doing something wrong when he enjoys touching and being touched by someone who has fewer rights than he does? Someone who can’t, really, leave him?

The doubts feel like an infection, feeding on his thoughts, souring his relief at being held, corrupting the certainty that he is wanted and, in the way of circuits and programming, loved.

~~~

“Stay still. I am attempting to determine if your hair grows randomly or in a pattern.” Kay brushes his fingers through Cassian’s hair against the grain to get a better look at the follicles. It’s half an excuse; he’s figured out Cassian finds having his hair played with soothing, but he does also enjoy patterns. He derives particular pleasure from fractals and golden spirals, the latter he’s hoping to find in the whorl over the crown of Cassian’s skull, if he will just _stay still_.

Cassian just sighs and pulls aways. “Not now, Kay. Just go back to playing the money market or something.”

Kay lets go, running a series of precedent searches for Cassian’s tone and microexpressions, and comes back with several red flag matches in the flatness of his dismissal. There have been many times where Cassian has to lock up so much of his feeling in order simply to cope with his circumstances, but in ninety-eight percent of those cases, Kay could pinpoint a clear and specific cause. Shooting someone he didn’t want to makes up an alarming percentage of those causes, as well as being shot, or someone he liked being shot. Failed missions also feature highly.

Milder causes include exhaustion, his annual mental health examination, and difficult-to-predict triggers in his environment. 

As no one has been shooting at Cassian recently, and he has been sleeping significantly better recently, Kay determines it is most likely to be the last result. 

Cassian retreats to his desk, limping a little more today than he was yesterday, and picks up a datapad. He feigns being engrossed, but the fractional muscle movements in his neck associated with reading aren’t there. He’s faking. 

Kay decides not to let him.

“Whatever you are reading must be very boring. You only read one line.” 

Cassian doesn’t move.

Kay begins running projections of possible triggers in the last twelve hours, and can’t think of any. None that are external, anyway. He would like to close the distance between them, make him feel better, but Cassian doesn’t want to be touched right now. The problem is, Kay’s sort of, well, stuck with him. It’s not like the rebel bases, with places Kay could go freely alone. 

He resents that, and he tends to defy things he resents. 

“If you are going to ignore me, I am going to the university information archive. I was even thinking about attending lectures. Maybe you can pretend to enroll and I can takes notes for you.”

Cassian’s thumb flicks across the screen of the datapad. Then he nods, one little jerk of his head. “Be back before dark.”

Kay rolls his optics. “I know.”

He walks out, and doesn’t see Cassian bury his face in his hands.

~~~

Cassian exercises. He reads legal paperwork, and when that gets boring, he digs around for work on droid rights. It makes him feel a little guilty that it took this to get him interested, that of course suddenly he cares because it's personal and not just because it's right. But then, he's been a little busy until recently, so maybe he can try to forgive himself for that one. He works off the guilt by doing more exercises, even though he was warned not to over-exert himself. Stretching the thick bands behind his knees makes him feel like he's fighting against something, which would help more if Kay wasn't usually here to help and/or sass him. 

Actually, there's nothing in the apartment that doesn't carry memories of Kay. 

There are, in fact, very few parts of his life that haven't been saturated by Kay's presence – or his absence – for a long time. 

This is the point, he knows, where normal people probably go and talk to someone about their problems. But Cassian is not a normal person, this is not a normal relationship, and these are not normal problems. 

Who can he talk to? Who can he tell? 

Chirrut, being Chirrut, probably knows, but he's discreet and hasn't said anything. Maybe he can also tell Cassian wouldn't appreciate it if he did. He likes the Guardians, but he's not close enough to them to go to Chirrut about this. 

Ironically, he has the opposite problem with Jyn. It's not that he doesn't trust her, it's that he has no idea how she'd react, and his whole being recoils at the thought of her disgust. He couldn't bear it if she reacted poorly, if she judged him for being involved with a droid. 

Apparently, there's such a thing as being too close to someone for comfort as well. It's not worth the risk. 

That leaves Bodhi. A man he trusts, but isn't so tied to that his rejection would be completely unbearable. Just the right amount of distance and closeness. And Bodhi knows already, though how much he knows, Cassian isn't sure. They've never talked about it. Bodhi's never so much as dropped a hint of the conversation he had with Kay, but he went through with it and hasn't treated either of them differently. 

Bodhi it is. 

He indulges in exactly one minute of feeling bad for being too cowardly to confide in Jyn, and then makes the call.

“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told him,” says the tiny blue holo of Bodhi Rook. “You have to tell him this stuff, not me.”

“That isn’t helpful, Rook,” Cassian growls, hunched over the desk and frowning ferociously. “I don’t know how to tell him we shouldn’t be together because I have more legal rights than he does.”

He stops, brought up short. It’s the first time he’s said out loud that he and Kay are together. It takes considering ending that state that allows him to admit it in the first place.

“That is… awkward.” Tiny blue Bodhi pulls his hair out of its messy tail only to gather it back again. 

“If this is making you uncomfortable…” Cassian goes for the button. This was a bad idea in the first place. But Bodhi quickly holds up a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine, really, it’s not because of Kay. I just can’t help with this, you know? It’s not the same as, uh, what he talked to me about. I’m not really experienced at relationships, even more traditional ones.” 

“Neither am I.” Might as well get that detail out of the way. Cassian Andor is nearly thirty years old, and he’s never had a traditional relationship. His heart sinks. It was foolish of him to think Bodhi could help with this. It’s not like he can fix the laws for them, he’s just an ex-Imperial, ex-rebel cargo pilot with several severe traumas and phobias of his own that now keep him from flying.

What right does Cassian have to bother him with his personal problems?

“So you agree. The problem is unsolvable and Kay and I shouldn’t be… in a relationship.”

“No, no, that’s not what I said.” Bodhi’s voice rises in pitch. The miniature image of him wavers as if his discomfort is being broadcast along with his likeness.

“But it’s true.” Cassian closes his eyes for a second. He’s used to doing things he doesn’t like, but he’s not used to having to decide on them himself. Is that why he called Bodhi? Because he’s so used to being ordered around that he needed to hear the unpleasant thing from someone else? “He asked me to enroll in university so he could attend lectures. Because he can’t even go to classes without me. The only thing that whole kriffing court case did was make sure no one can disassemble him.”

“Well, that’s pretty important,” Bodhi points out, leaning closer to the transmitter until the perspective distorts his form. It’s a disconcerting effect. “And sure, your situation isn’t ideal, I get that. But you don’t know how he feels about it. All I’m saying is, you should talk to him about the problem. You can’t just decide to break up with him for his own good.”

“I have a moral obligation to break up with him.” Cassian folds his arms across his chest. The muscles between his shoulder blades ache with tension.

“But do you want to? That’s different, if you don’t want to be with him--”

Cassian overrides him without thinking about it. “I want to be with him. But Kay isn’t very good at morals, it’s not really part of his programming.”

“So, maybe he doesn’t mind that you have more legal rights than he does? There’s nothing strictly wrong with enrolling in university for him, I think it would be kind of sweet. You want my opinion?”

“I did call you.”

“You did.” Bodhi rubs the back of his neck. His eye-contact, sporadic at best, slides away completely. “So my opinion is…” Cassian’s surprised he hasn’t found something to start fiddling with yet. “You’re understandably upset that the person you care about isn’t viewed as your equal, but you’re jumping to conclusions about what’s best for him without consulting him, which also isn’t treating him like an equal. If he’s not bothered by the relative abstracts of morality involved, you have to confront why you are. So, you have to talk to him about it, and make a joint decision.”

Cassian flinches, body sagging into his seat. The accusation of making decisions for Kay strikes deep. “Okay. Thanks, Bodhi.”

He ends the transmission, hitting the button a little harder than necessary.

~~~

The worst part of existence outside of the Rebellion is inactivity. To put it more bluntly, Kay is bored. He has no intention of admitting this to Cassian, who has a fifty-seven percent chance of taking it personally, a forty-three percent chance of considering himself in some way responsible, and a one hundred percent chance of doing something noble and/or stupid to try to fix it. They are not, after all, on a mission. Boredom is not within the acceptable parameters of daily civilian life. Is it? 

Neither of them really know anything about daily civilian life.

Even conditions on Eslar III, what with Cassian’s immediately getting involved in gambling dens of dubious legality and people assuming Kay’s presence meant he was an Imperial fugitive, had not exactly been statistically typical. Here, the problem is more that Cassian has things to keep him occupied (which is good, it improves his chances of not spiraling into some form of moral despair) but Kay… does not. Though he is having fun playing with his new credits, the novelty will only last so long. Far more engaging is exploring the still-new form his relationship with Cassian has taken, but he can’t spend all his time on that, either.

Of course Kay is fully aware of the underlying issues that have created and enforced the limitations on what he can do unaccompanied by an associated organic who can vouch for him, but he’s not about to complain to Cassian about that, either. There’s nothing he can do about it, so there’s no point bothering him. 

Especially since he seems to have found something else to sulk about all on his own.

This thought process brings Kay through the city he has already mapped with footage from orbital satellites to the modern, blocky concrete-and-steel university building. 

“This building is extremely visually unpleasant. It is simultaneously imposing and boring,” he says, aloud, even though Cassian isn’t there to hear him. “I suspect it is of Imperial design. I hope its appearance does not reflect its quality of instruction.”

A few people glance his way. A young twi’lek clutching a file of flexis even pauses. They are of the correct age and stress level to be a student. “You, uh, looking for something?” 

“Is this the correct entrance to access the archive library?” Kay asks, since the student bothered to stop.

“Yeah, look, that’s where I’m going. You can follow me, I guess.” They hike the file up, holding it to their chest like their life depends on its contents. Who knows, maybe it does. Kay has no experience with universities.

“Thank you.” Being polite generates positive outcomes with most cultures. The twi’lek bobs and hurries through the large transparisteel doors with Kay following behind. The inside of the building isn’t any better than the outside, with a high-ceilinged open block in the middle ringed by balcony hallways like a very ugly inside-out layer cake.

Kay takes a moment to appreciate the absurdity of that comparison before they reach the wide desk that dominates the front of the open block. The student is confirmed to be a student as they juggle the file to swipe an ID card over a pad on the desk.

Behind the desk is a single droid, whose chassis was clearly designed to match the decor. Matte grey, blocky, dull. Again, Kay has to hope the outside doesn’t indicate anything about the personality.

“Library’s through these doors,” the twi’lek says. “You’re a guest, so you have to sign in or… something.”

“No unaccompanied droids beyond this point.” The droid behind the desk has a flat, hollow voice. Kay’s hopes sink. 

“I would like to point out the irony of being told that by an unaccompanied droid.”

“No unaccompanied unauthorized droids beyond this point,” says the gatekeeper.

“I am accompanied by that person right there, and they got in.” The twi’lek is still hovering, looking nervously between them.

“You are still an unauthorized droid. Do you have identification provided by a member of this institution granting research access on their behalf?” The droid’s tone doesn’t change. Either they’re extremely bored, or extremely boring.

“I… no…” Kay wishes deeply that he was as good at falsehoods as Cassian. He wishes Cassian was here. He wishes he didn’t need Cassian to be here. “I have identification as an independent droid. I don’t require an organic…”

“No combat class droids beyond this point.”

“Are you simply determined to keep me out?” Frustration heats his circuits. He steps up to the desk and leans on it, but the gatekeeper remains thoroughly unimpressed. 

“Uhm.” The twi’lek bobs again between the desk and the library doors. Everything they say sounds like questions. It’s a curious inflection. “I have a guest pass? Can I use my guest pass for him?”

“There are no weapons allowed past this point,” says the droid. “This droid is, effectively, a weapon. If you bring him into the archive, I will summon security to have you both removed.”

“Look, I really don’t think that’s fair.” The twi’lek holds the file like it might somehow protect them. Trying to distract himself from the increasing desire to disable the gatekeeper droid, which would definitely result in having security called and would not prove that he is benign enough to be allowed inside, Kay calculates the relative effectiveness of the layered flexis against different sorts of attack. In none of them does it save their life or structural integrity.

“He’s found a solution to every one of your objections.” The twi’lek is still talking. “You can’t just go on making new objections until you find one he can’t fix.”

“Actually,” Kay says, knowing, even while he hears his own vocoder produce the words, that he is not helping his own case, “I believe that is exactly what their programming entails. Thank you for your attempt at help, it was ineffective, but kind.”

~~~

Cassian makes himself dinner before dark. Every time he cooks, he makes more than he can eat, and sends the remainder to the rest of Rogue One. He’s starting to learn their tastes, which is nice, and it’s easier to cook for them than just for himself. It feels less like a waste of time and resources if he’s feeding his team. His… friends.

Normally, the focus it takes to do all the small, neat tasks involved in making a complex dish soothes him. It’s harder to think about bad things when he’s keeping track of how long the peppers have been in the pan and not cutting off his fingers while he chops vegetables. Chirrut has been trying to teach him meditation, but this is the closest he thinks he gets to the centered feeling of peace the Guardian describes.

Except that, today, it’s not quite enough to keep him distracted. Maybe he should have made something more complicated. He straightens up with a sigh, rolling his shoulders, easing some of the tension out of his back. Kay has been out for five and a half hours. Which is fine. That’s fine. It’s good for him to do something on his own. Kay hasn’t contacted him, which means he’s fine. 

He’ll be back before dark, like he promised. And then…

They’ll talk. 

Cassian has done a lot of things he hated, things he still regrets and always will. And yet, with all that, it’s the thought of ending this brief and wonderful phase of his life with Kay that feels like nothing so much as standing at the edge of a sarlacc pit and preparing to jump. It’s going to be a long fall, and the grief at the bottom is going to eat him alive. 

Is this love? Is this what loving someone is like? 

His head jerks up, towards the stove. The peppers are about to burn. 

While he’s saving the peppers, there’s a soft buzz behind him, the security lock deactivating. A cold metal hand closes around his heart. His own conscience has none of Kay’s gentleness. He’s as ruthless with himself as with everything else.

“Learn anything interesting in the library?” he asks, without turning around.

“No.” The unusual shortness of Kay’s tone puts Cassian on alert. “You are cooking. Good, you did not forget while I was gone.”

“I did my exercises, too,” Cassian protests. The usually humorous exchange feels leaden in his mouth. “I can take care of myself, you know.” _Without you._

Forever unable to keep his thoughts to himself, Kay finally blurts out, “They wouldn’t let me in!” 

“What?” Cassian pauses stirring the sauce. “Why?”

“First they classified me as an unaccompanied droid. However, I was not unaccompanied, so then they classified me as a weapon. I am not a weapon, and I find it frankly insulting to be reduced to such a base classification.” Kay drops a small data chip on the table and just stands there, hulking over the kitchenette. “If you had been there, they would have let me in.”

“Maybe. Not necessarily.” Turning down the heat under his pan, Cassian turns to his friend. His partner. He rests a hand on Kay’s chest, lets it linger there on the cool metal. He’s not pressing hard enough to trigger Kay’s internal pressure sensors, but it’s habitual and Kay has said he appreciates it. “And Kay? I’m sorry I was short with you earlier. It wasn’t your fault.”

Kay lifts a hand and places it lightly over his. “I am no longer upset. Your apology is accepted. However, if you want to make it up to me, there is someone I would like to invite to dinner. That is customary when you want to make friends with someone, correct? You invite them to share nutrition.”

“That’s right.” Cassian leans back to look up at the droid towering over him. “You made a friend?” Despite his heavy heart, he’s glad. And surprised. Kay doesn’t usually make organic friends. In fact, Cassian can’t remember a time he’s ever made any friend on his own before. Maybe he’s just never really had an opportunity. “Sure. Is that what the data chip is for? Find out what their dietary necessities are, and I’ll cook.”

Kriff. No. He’s not supposed to be making future plans for them. Talk to him, that’s what Bodhi said, he just doesn’t know _how_. 

Apparently oblivious to his sudden crisis, Kay says, “They attempted to help me get into the university. When that failed, they directed me to the public library. While it was inferior to the university library, I would still like to repay them.”

Cassian nods. He wants nothing so much as to lean against Kay, kiss his hands, make both of them feels better. It’s obvious Kay is playing off the parts of his outing that bothered him. The things Cassian can’t fix. Instead, he withdraws back to the stove. “I have to finish the soup.”

Bodhi’s going to be disappointed in him. 

The least he can do is try.

“I’ve been thinking…” He’s compiling all the disparate parts of soup to simmer, a stage he usually finds satisfying, watching pieces become a coherent whole. It does nothing to appease him now.

“That is always dangerous,” Kay says, and one corner of Cassian’s mouth twitches. He feels it, but he’s not sure if it’s a smile or a flinch.

“I’m not sure a Core world is the best place for you.” _Us,_ he wants to say. He just barely keeps from putting emphasis on the replacement word. “Too much anti-droid sentiment, too many rules. You’d have more freedom on a world that doesn’t have much memory of the Clone Wars.” He can’t face Kay while he separates them with words.

“Would you like that?” Kay asks. “I doubt the others will come with us.”

Us. He draws in a shuddering breath.

“I’m not cleared for off-world travel yet, and I haven’t even looked at what restrictions I might have once I am. But I won’t hold you back.” He stirs the soup. It doesn’t need to be stirred, he just needs to be doing something with his hands. He needs an excuse to keep his back to Kay. 

“I am not leaving here without you.” There’s a clink of metal on metal. “Cassian. Look at me.” 

“I’m busy.”

“You are not.”

Cassian is good at keeping secrets. He’s good at keeping his fears and hopes and regrets locked up tight inside hm. Or at least, he used to be. He is with everything that doesn’t involve this maddening, honest, wonderful droid. The sarlacc pit gapes inside him, hungry. He leans out over it, and turns to face Kay.

“Would you stay if you would be safe without me?” He forces the words out. Pain has never stopped him before, and it won’t now. “I refuse to prioritize my feelings over yours. So I have to know. Things are different now.”

“Yes.” 

“Yes?” Kay doesn’t clarify which part he’s agreeing with. Maybe all of them. Maybe he didn’t understand the question. “If you could go anywhere in the galaxy, see anything, why would you stay here? You can’t know that you would stay if you’ve never had the opportunity to choose.”

Kay draws himself up out of his slouch. The dome of his head nearly brushes the ceiling. “I would stay, because you are more important to me than anything else in the galaxy. Whatever I would like to see and experience, I would prefer to do with you.”

“But why?” Cassian’s legs go weak. He locks his knees so he won’t sway. “I’m not that great.”

“I don’t know.” Kay’s rigid posture slackens a little, head bowing, and all Cassian wants is to reach out to him again. “It is not quantifiable. I am not programmed for affection, or even interpersonal relationships, and yet I appear to have developed independent routines for both. I could attempt to write out the code I experience when I am with you. I believe when organics do this, it is called poetry.”

The thought of Kay writing him love poetry is almost more than he can take. He can’t do this. He has to. Once begun, he has to pursue this line to its bitter end. A far worse thought overrules his embarrassment.

“Is it my fault? When I programmed you, I mean, did I _make_ you care about me?”

Kay pauses, considering, for a long time. Seconds tick by. Too long. Cassian leans as casually as he can against the counter behind him. The exposed biosteel in his lower back clunks quietly through the fabric of his shirt. The internal sarlacc growls hungrily, and he wishes he hadn’t asked. Wishes he could take it back, even while he knows he needs the answer. 

“I have examined my programming,” Kay says at last. “You overrode my obedience protocols with code that allowed me learning and independent thought. My feelings for you developed as a direct result of my ability to learn and choose. In that sense, you created my ability to care for you.” Cassian braces himself the way he would for a physical blow. “However, I can find no evidence that any of the code you wrote for me _made_ me care.”

Cassian slumps with relief. At least he can write off that one responsibility, take a small bit of the weight off his heart. 

“But I can’t make us equals.” It barely comes out a whisper. “You couldn’t even get into a library without me. It’s not fair.”

“Oh.” The word rises with Kay’s realization. “This isn’t just about the library. This is what’s been bothering you. I understand now. Yes, it is very frustrating that I do not have the freedoms you do simply because I am synthetic.”

“I think I’m morally obligated to end our intimate relationship,” Cassian says, forcing the words out as fast as he can. The same way he’d jump, without time to think about the fall. 

He expected it to hurt himself. He did not expect Kay to take a step back like he’s been shoved by a massive force. “Cassian…” Static blurs the syllables of his name almost past recognition, as if with words alone, he’s damaged the hardware inside the droid’s shell.

He’s doing this all wrong, but he has no idea what right is.

“I don’t want to,” he insists, needs to make that clear to both of them. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, please understand that, but the situation has. It’s not right, morally, for me to be involved with you if the circumstances prevent you from leaving.”

“But Cassian.” Kay hasn’t recovered, his words still fried and unclear. “I don’t want to leave. I have thought about this.”

“You… have?”

“Yes. I am frustrated by requiring your assistance with things organics do not. I have run simulations of what I would do were that not the case. None of them involved not wanting to be with you.” Kay holds out his hand, inviting Cassian closer. He can’t stay away, drawn to him as if by powerful magnets linking them. “And I realized something. Sometimes you require my assistance to walk.”

“That’s not the same.” He takes Kay’s hand anyway. “That’s because of injury, not society.”

“Cassian. Ugh, this is worse than the pension; you and your stupid morals.” Kay shakes his head. “We are partners. I am not going to give that up just because the galaxy remains unfair.” His fingers curl around Cassian’s, and then go still, holding him there. His grip soft but unbreakable. How so much doubt and fear can be compacted into two words and a mechanical voice, Cassian has no idea, but he feels the next ones right to his bones.

“Will you?”

His mind is all thorns and a sarlacc pit, gnawed by doubt, by obligation, by the fact that Kay doesn’t like the situation either. But Kay is here, wanting him. He has always relied on Kay’s honesty, on his inability to be anything but true. Now, he has to trust in that honesty, believe that truth. 

He’d taken the leap, done what he felt he had to do, what he had to at least offer to do. Kay catches him, like he always has, offers him a lifeline. He folds his other hand over the back of the metal one and squeezes, then shakes his head. 

“I had to know,” he says softly. “I needed to know that things would be the same if you were free. I don’t want you to think you have no choice. Not about this. I can’t make us equal by law, or by society, but between us, we are.”

“I do not entirely understand your need to affirm that, but I hope you are assured now that I am with you entirely because I want to be. Everything we do, I want. I will tell you if it is ever otherwise.” Kay tugs him by their linked hands, stepping unerringly backwards, and Cassian follows, through the door, to the bed. Kay sits. 

“Now, I want you to sit with me. You are warm, and I believe contact with you would be beneficial for both of us.” He gives another small, inviting tug. “I will set an alarm so that the soup will not burn.”

Now Cassian does manage a tiny smile, and lets himself collapse at last into Kay’s embrace. Kay gathers him effortlessly, folds his legs and draws him in until Cassian is sitting in his lap, balanced comfortably against his chest plate, one spindly durasteel arm supporting his back. 

“That is better.” Kay’s free hand lightly strokes his thigh, and Cassian realizes it’s for Kay’s comfort, as well as his. Kay, too, needs this intimacy and reassurance in ways neither of them truly understand. 

He knows Kay doesn’t have many sensors in his head and face, but Cassian leans in anyway and kisses him just above the silver vocoder grill.

“Yes. It is.”

He leans against him. Bodhi was right, they’d needed to talk it out. Kay is right, this is better. Sighing, he lets the steady purr of Kay’s internal motors and fans consume his senses, lulling him into a state of deep relaxation, lighter than sleep, softer than pleasure.

**Author's Note:**

> After the end of the rebellion, thinking K-2SO is dead, Cassian disappears. Kay tracks him down to a remote Outer Rim planet called Eslar III, where he is largely confined to a hoverchair due to old injuries. 
> 
> Shortly after their reunion, Cassian is attacked by a drunk man who thinks Cassian is an Imperial fugitive. His chair is damaged. Kay talks him into physical therapy to improve his strength and mobility. Meanwhile, they both begin to consider how their feelings towards each other are changing without the war to keep them busy. There's some cuddling and hand-holding, but neither knows how to address these feelings with the other. 
> 
> Concerned for Cassian's safety, Kay contacts Jyn Erso and Bodhi Rook to convince him to leave the Outer Rim and get bionic implants that will be far more effective assisted mobility devices than a hoverchair. When the other members of Rogue One arrive, Cassian and Kay's feelings for each other reach a boiling point. Kay seeks advice from Bodhi, who's very decent about having The Talk with a droid.
> 
> Cassian and Kay finally express their desires to explore a romantic relationship with each other. Cassian agrees to return to the Core for surgery and to have the support of their friends.


End file.
